Max

by Sawyer Bennett

  But it all made sense to me why Chris jumped to give me my job back. The Cold Fury are the defending Stanley Cup Champions and I know Chris is a huge fan as he's always talking about them.

  I watch as Max turns his back on me and walks down the aisle that displays gum and candy on one side and chips on the other, until he reaches the back cooler and pulls out a Mountain Dew. He snags a Snickers when he comes back through and drops them both on the counter.

  I ring the purchases up while casually saying, "You should let me buy these for you. It's the least I can do for you getting my job back."

  "Not necessary," he says, and my eyes slide from the green digital display on the register to him. He looks back at me with an expression that clearly says he was glad he could help. He hands me a five dollar bill without even looking at the total and I take that to mean this is not his first Snickers and Mountain Dew combo he's purchased.

  My heart starts beating a little quicker as I make change for him, then quicker yet when I pass him the coins and our fingers brush against each other. A flood of warmth courses through me, leaving a little prickle of excitement behind, and when he smiles at me and shoves the change in his front pocket, a feeling of serenity settles over me.

  That's...odd and not exactly altogether unpleasant.

  I wait for Max to tell me goodbye and walk back out that door--back out of my life, probably for good--but he stuns the hell out of me when he walks the length of the counter and then rounds the end to come behind the register with me. He casually leans against the back counter, setting his Mountain Dew there and opening up his Snickers bar.

  "What are you doing?" I ask, stunned, with equal measures of excitement he's not leaving and terror that Chris will walk in and find him here. I cannot lose this job again.

  "Going to hang out with you for the rest of your shift," he says with a shrug and then takes a bite of his candy bar.

  I get sidetracked a moment by the strong lines of his jaw moving as he chews, and my fingers itch to touch the stubble there, which looks the same length as when I saw him yesterday.

  "You can't," I blurt out. "If Chris comes in...I can't lose this job again."

  "He knows I'm here," Max says calmly after he swallows, and then waves the candy bar in my direction. "Want a bite?"

  My eyebrows draw inward and I shake my head at his offer. "He knows you're here?"

  "Yup," he says with a grin. "Told him I was going to come by tonight for a little bit and hang until you closed up, and then make sure you got to your car safely."

  "And he was okay with that?"

  "He was more than okay," Max says nonchalantly, takes another bite and grins at me through his chewing.

  I narrow my eyes. "You bribed him, didn't you?"

  "Yup," is all he says.

  "With what...tickets to games?"

  "And signed shit," he adds on.

  I shake my head, my eyes lowered in amusement. I keep them lowered, afraid to look at him again as I might just grab his face and plant a huge kiss on his cheek.

  I'm saved from embarrassing myself when the door opens and a young guy walks in. Tall with light blond hair, fashionable white polo, and khaki shorts with loafers. He doesn't spare us a glance and heads to the coolers.

  Max sets his half-eaten candy bar down, pushes off from the counter, steps to the end and nabs a baseball hat off a rack that holds several done in local collegiate colors. He chooses a red Wolfpack one, glances at the price tag before pulling it off. I watch all of this with interest as he puts the hat on, pulls it low, and then fishes in his wallet to hand me a twenty along with the tag.

  I look down at the items in my hand, then back to him, and he winks. "Don't feel like getting recognized."

  I grin and turn to the register, where I ring up the hat for $14.99 and hand him his change.

  Max pulls his phone out, bends his head over it, and leans back against the counter just as the young guy puts a case of beer on the counter. He doesn't even give Max a glance and it takes no more than a few minutes for me to card him, ring up his purchase, take payment, give him the difference, and he's back out the door without once looking at the man behind the counter with me.

  I turn to face Max, resigned--no, okay, excited--that he's going to spend the next hour here. Positioning myself on the opposite counter, with the register behind me, I lean back and ask, "It's kind of weird...a professional athlete eating a candy bar and drinking a Mountain Dew."

  "We all have vices, Jules," he offers before polishing off the candy bar.

  "I bet you train super hard so what's a candy bar here and there, right?" I observe.

  "That's kind of my theory," he says, after which he swallows the last bit and uncaps his Mountain Dew. He holds it up toward his mouth, but before taking a drink he says, "But let's just make an agreement right here and now that if you ever meet Vale Campbell, my strength trainer, you do not tell her about the candy bars and soda, okay?"

  I laugh, tilting my head back and realizing it's been a long time since I've let out an actual spontaneous laugh. When I lower my face and look back at him with a fading chuckle, he's staring at me, bottle still poised in the air.

  His eyes are intense...pinned on me. We stare at each other, and as my laugh dies, an electric current seems to sizzle in the air between us. His gaze drops to my mouth, holds there a moment and then moves back to my eyes. A slight flash of longing and then it's gone and he's giving me an easygoing smile. "Agreed?"

  "Sure," I say, desperately reaching out to grab ahold of that magnetic feeling again, but it's gone. "It's our secret."

  "So what do you do to entertain yourself in here at night in between customers?" he asks casually.

  I sigh internally because that pulsing vibe of attraction that was just here is absolutely gone, but I'm bolstered somewhat by the fact that Max's attention on me is no less focused.

  "Um...let's see. I'll often read People magazine so I can stay up-to-date on celebrity news, or I'll just surf on my phone, but I have to be careful because my data plan isn't very big and there's no WiFi here. Oh, and I like to play a game when customers come in...I try to figure out what their life story is just by what I observe about them."

  "For example," he prods me.

  "Well, that kid that was just in here...I think he's from a fairly well-to-do family, probably goes to private school judging by his clothes and car. On his way to a party and he stopped in here to grab beer for the night. In fact, I bet the party is in one of these huge developments with the mega mansions and he's on his way there, probably hoping to get laid by a cheerleader or something."

  "But he would have bought condoms," Max points out. "Actually, I think he had a date tonight and was stood up...and he's depressed and came in to buy beer so he can get drunk and drown his miseries."

  "You're a romantic," I say with a grin.

  "I can be," he says softly, and that causes me to flush warm again.

  God, I can't even remember what it means for a guy to be romantic.

  The door to the store opens again. Max pulls his cap lower and we watch as a woman of about fifty walks in wearing a black tank top with white bra straps sticking out. Tight jeans, and tattoos up and down both arms. Her eyes are done with blue eye shadow and lips are bright red. She weaves a little, clearly drunk.

  She orders two packs of cigarettes and without a thank-you walks back out. We both watch as she gets on the back of a Harley driven by a big burly guy with a long gray beard.

  I turn back to look at Max and he laughs. "That's way too easy. No fun in trying to figure out her story."

  For the next fifty minutes I am thoroughly entertained by Max. We make up people's life stories and in between I read him snippets from People magazine. I find him witty with an amazing sense of humor, and I laugh more than I have in a long time. Our conversation is casual and not very deep, but it is very easy and I appreciate that more than he'll ever know. That electric pop never happens again, but I expect it's because Max
is being respectful of me, and he's showing me what a nice guy he is.

  And God...he's so nice.

  At midnight I lock the doors and turn off the outside lights to indicate we're closed. Max waits patiently as I zero out the register and fill out the paperwork that goes with it, before putting the cash into the safe.

  It's when he follows me out of the store, waits for me to relock the doors, and then walks me to my car that I start to feel nervous.

  I open my car door and slide into the driver's seat while Max rests his hand on the top of the door and peers down at me.

  "You work again on Monday, right?" he asks.

  I nod, putting my key in the ignition.

  "I'll come see you then," he says.

  "You don't have to--"

  Max cuts me off. "I've got an away game tomorrow in Boston but I'll be back Sunday. Give me your phone number."

  "What? No," I blurt out, wondering why he would possibly want to come hang out in a convenience store with me or even want my number. Getting involved with me is a terrible idea, and why he can't see that is beyond me.

  "Yes," is all he says as he pulls his phone out. "Give me your number."

  I weigh my options, but before I can even give adequate consideration to the first one--which is to refuse him again--he narrows his eyes at me and says, "I'll just get it from Chris. You know he'll give it to me."

  I try to be mad or affronted that he's being so pushy, but damn it...his smile and dimples are so fucking persuasive, I give him my number.

  I do it with an eye roll, but I give it to him all the same.

  I wait until four P.M. to call Jules. I had to force myself not to call her yesterday in order to concentrate on our game in Boston. And normally I never have a hard time locking the world out and focusing on my job in the net when it's game day. In fact, I'm usually so focused on game day, I barely speak to anyone.

  But yesterday morning as I was sitting on the team plane for our flight to Boston, I actually pulled my phone out. I had come perilously close to dialing her, when Hawke threw himself down in the seat next to me and without even so much as a "Good morning" proceeded to fill me in on the saga of him and Vale. This did not include exact details but he told me grimly that Vale finally revealed why she broke up with him seven years ago, and that they had worked it out. He then told me with a stupid grin on his face that makeup sex was awesome, and then, with amused chuckles, about how one of his hookups showed up at his house with Vale there.

  I winced because that did not sound funny.

  He jabbered at me until the plane door closed and I was forced to put my phone into airplane mode, the call to Jules averted.

  Fuck, I wanted to hear her voice and see if that connection we'd made the previous night was still there, but I also didn't want to come on too strong with her. When she told me at Sweetbrier that it was not a good time in her life, I took that as a clear indication I had to proceed slowly with her. She had so much on her plate and so many worries on her mind and I did not want to add on to that. It's why I kept things light and friendly the night I hung out with her at the convenience store.

  So I forced myself to give her some space and I finally got my head in the game on Saturday. It's a good thing too because we're still in preseason, and while I think I'm the favorite for the starting goalie spot, I'm not locked in either. I got the call for the start Saturday night and I played fucking fantastic, managing to go all three periods without thinking about Jules once. And that is how it should be. When I'm in a game, I should be focused on that.

  But I'm not in a game today so I can put my attention elsewhere.

  It's Sunday and I'm not going to let another day pass without at least letting her know I'm still interested. I busied myself today with working out, getting my house cleaned, and grocery shopping for the upcoming week. I did my laundry and watched some golf on TV. Then I got up, got in my car, and drove to Tony's Pizza.

  I have no clue where Jules lives and while I'm quite confident her manager would hand me her address without a care in the world, that's definitely too stalkerlike. But I do know Tony's is near her house because it's only a few miles from Sweetbrier, and she told me Friday night that her commute was only like five minutes. So I know I'm in the general vicinity of where she lives.

  As I sit in the parking lot of Tony's, I pull my phone out and dial Jules' number, my heart pounding hard as I wait for her to answer, slightly terrified she won't.

  She picks up on the second ring and answers with a tentative whisper, her tone of voice wondering who is calling her since I did not give her my number and she wouldn't recognize it. "Hello?"

  "Have you started on dinner yet for you and the kids?" I ask. I'm taking a guess she's with the kids because I learned Friday night that she doesn't work weekends except for watching a friend's kid who watches her crew during weeknights when she's working at the convenience store. It's been raining all day today, so I hoped they'd all be there at Jules' apartment.

  "Max?" she asks hesitantly.

  "Well, of course it's Max," I tease her lightly. "Or do you have so many men chasing after you that you can't keep us straight?"

  She laughs softly and it flows through my veins like a sweet lazy river. I like that sound so much, I immediately yearn to hear it again.

  "You just caught me off guard," she says by way of explanation.

  "Didn't think I'd call, did you?" I guess.

  "Nope," she admits candidly. "I'm not exactly a great catch."

  "I beg to differ," I say, but I don't want to belabor that point with her because I'm not sure I have enough breath in my lungs to have my reason penetrate her doubtful head. Besides, I intend to show her through actions that I'm interested in her quite a bit, despite the messiness of her life right now. Friday night was one of the best hours I'd spent in a long, long time. Fun, humorous conversation that was virtually effortless, and let's not forget...she is not hard to look at.

  I continue on. "So, I'm getting ready to order pizza. You cool with New York style and just pepperoni? It's my favorite but I could be persuaded to order something else."

  "Huh?"

  "Pizza, Jules. Pizza. I'm getting pizza for you and the kids, and going to deliver it to you. You'll be nice, invite me in to eat with you, and then I'll be on my way."

  "Pizza?" she mumbles.

  "I might bring cannoli too," I add on to tempt her further.

  "You're crazy," she murmurs.

  "Quite possibly. So what kind of pizza do you and the kids like, and what's your address?"

  "My apartment is a mess," she warns me.

  "Don't care."

  "The kids are kind of wired today since it's been raining and they've been stuck inside," she warns further.

  "We'll stuff them with pizza and then put in a movie for them to watch," I suggest. "It'll be fine."

  She huffs out a breath, remains silent for a moment, then says, "Fine. We all love New York style and I'll text you my address."

  "Awesome," I tell her, and then I give a double fist pump inside my car. I can't believe she gave in that easy.

  --

  This isn't going quite how I expected, but it's cool.

  Totally cool that three little kids are repetitively whipping my ass at Candy Land. I draw a card, note the blue square, and advance my gingerbread pawn and fucking land on a licorice drop.

  Again.

  At age six and the middle child, Levy--who I quickly realized is the true troublemaker of this crew--points a finger and laughs almost maniacally at me. "You lose a turn, Max. In your face."

  Little brat.

  But I laugh back at him, watch as Annabelle--who proudly announced to me she is four and a half years old--pulls a yellow card and advances to the Candy Castle for her third win. She lets out a "yippee" as she smirks at Levy, who's only won one game, while she's won three. Rocco is the oldest at seven and you can tell he's sort of an old soul. While he's also only won one game, he praises Annabelle for her vic
tory.

  Yeah...not how I thought this would go.

  I showed up with hot pizzas and my nerves on overdrive as I realized I was getting ready to not only spend time with Jules, which produced the good kind of nerves, but that I'd also be interacting with her niece and nephews. It suddenly hit me...I want Jules to like me, and if I want that, those kids better fucking like me.

  I had hoped a nice bribery of gooey pizza and then the DVD copy of The Incredibles would be sufficient. I'd hoped after we ate, the kids would watch the movie and I'd be able to perhaps talk to Jules, or even stare at her a bit if that's all I could finagle. But she informed me after we ate that she didn't own a DVD player and even if she did, her TV didn't work because of two active boys that may have knocked the TV over during a wrestling match.

  Thankfully, neither one had been hurt, but the TV didn't survive, something inside having been jarred loose, and Jules simply couldn't afford to fix it.

  So I got stuck playing Candy Land with the kids while Jules finished up laundry, got their clothes ready for the next day, and packed the boys' lunches. In between the second and third game, I found her in the bathroom scrubbing out the toilet. She just looked at me sheepishly and muttered, "Sorry...but I'm totally taking advantage of you keeping them occupied so I can get ahead on a few things that need to be done."

  Christ...it was a fucking punch to the gut as I realized Jules couldn't even sit down longer than the fifteen minutes it took her to eat two slices of pizza before she was pressed into answering the call of responsibility. I wanted to pull her away, rip those nasty yellow rubber gloves she was wearing off, and make her go sit down on the couch to rest. Instead I asked, "Want me to help do something?"

  She grinned at me and said, "Trust me...this is actually a nice break from having to entertain three rambunctious kids. You playing with them is doing me a huge favor."

  I nodded and started to turn away, but she called, "Max?"

  I turned back.

  "Thanks. I know this is an awful way to spend your time."

  Another punch to the gut.

  "Jules," I told her as my eyes pinned her in place, "watching you scrub that toilet and playing a horribly boring game over and over again is the highlight of my day."

  And that's the truth.

  Well, mostly the truth. I'd rather have been watching a movie, but whatever. I think she got my point that I would take her how I could get her. And besides, I'm still trying to figure things out. Trying to figure out what I'm trying to get out of all of this, and whether or not I can even see any feasible way of getting some time with her alone to figure those things out.